Shirtless Part 2
by meri.MKfan
Summary: Kitty and Matt take a stage ride. This predictably leads to trouble, and of course, to Matt losing his shirt...
1. Chapter 1 Save a Horse

**Chapter 1 Save a Horse…**

"How much longer until the next stop, do you think?" Kitty shifted on the uncomfortable seat as the stagecoach found yet another of the seemingly endless supply of potholes in the road. At least they had the stage to themselves, so her long-legged man could stretch out a bit.

Matt turned away from gazing out the window. He smiled down at her indulgently, blue eyes twinkling. "About 10 minutes less than the last time you asked."

"Matt!" Kitty whacked him lightly on the arm.

He grinned, then tried to look contrite. "I'd say about another half hour."

Kitty sighed loudly. She really hated stage travel, but it was the only reasonable way to get to Garden City if she wanted to go with Matt, which she most definitely did. It would be worth it once they arrived, she reminded herself. He'd have to be at the trial during the day, but she wanted to meet with some suppliers there anyway, and then they'd have at least two, maybe three whole evenings to themselves, with no deputies, no drunks, no drifters – nothing to interrupt their time together.

She smiled to herself at the thought. If Matt had his way, they'd be making very good use of the hotel room the state was paying for. She figured they'd be spending most of their free time there, in fact. Too bad they had to waste money on a second room for her, but even outside of Dodge, the proprieties had to be observed, just in case.

Of course, they'd take advantage of the nicer restaurants to enjoy dinners out – after all, she wanted to be sure her big cowboy kept up his strength! Yes indeed, it was definitely going to be worth the bumpy stage ride once she got her man alone for some quality 'together' time…

"What'cha thinkin', Beautiful?" Matt's eyes were twinkling, and Kitty realized that she was smiling like the cat that caught the canary, courtesy of the intimate scenario playing out in her imagination.

Stretching up, Kitty put her lips to Matt's ear. As she whispered the details of what she wanted to do later that evening, an adorable blush crept up his cheeks. The arm draped around her shoulders tightened its hold reflexively as he processed her suggestions.

Matt cleared his throat and shifted slightly on the hard seat. "By golly, Kitty," he murmured, "I'm thinkin' I'd best take a nap before dinner, 'cause I won't be getting much rest after!"

"You complainin', Cowboy?"

"No ma'am." Matt's warm baritone and heated look sent a shiver down her back. "We aim to please."

Kitty pitched her voice at a low purr. "Oh you **do**, Marshal, you most definitely **do**!" Her use of his title was deliberately, unabashedly provocative.

"Kitty…" Matt's soft growl was equal parts come-on and warning.

"Yes, Matt?" Kitty let her gaze rake down the long length of his body. Yes indeed, her man was clearly both ready and willing to please… and really, why wait until tonight?

As if of its own volition, her hand reached out, stroking slowly down the length of his chest, liberating his shirt buttons from their buttonholes on the way. Parting the material, her fingers skimmed across the planes of his chest, tracing a slow, winding path back up to his taut nipples. Matt sucked in a breath, mesmerized by the sure, deliberate movements of her fingers on his bare skin.

Leaning in, she captured one of the small brown buds between her lips, teasing it with her tongue and teeth. Matt hissed in pleasure, his head falling back against the seat. His arm tightened around her instinctively, pulling her closer. Pulling his shirt open completely, Kitty worked her way across his chest to offer equal attention to its mate, then let her lips wander over the broad, muscled expanse, tasting and teasing one of her favorite parts of her man.

"Kitty, if you keep that up…" Matt's big hands on her shoulders pulled her up to face him. His eyes were dark and intense, his breathing rapid.

For an answer, Kitty simply leaned in and covered his mouth with hers, her lips soft against his, her tongue hot and seeking. Groaning with desire, Matt gave up any attempt at restraint, pulling her against his body and kissing her back fiercely.

Feeling his big fingers pulling at the buttons that ran down the front of her bodice, Kitty quickly undid the top half-dozen for him, and knowing his purpose, loosened the top of her corset. Grunting appreciatively, he slid a big hand inside her garments to caress what she knew to be his favorite part of her anatomy – which completely worked for her, she thought, as his callused fingers stroked and fondled her sensitized skin, sending lightening bolts of pleasure straight to her core.

As his mouth roamed her neck and shoulders, Kitty kept one hand anchored in her big marshal's curls as she let the other slide down to stroke him through the taut material of his pants. Matt groaned loudly at the contact, involuntarily starting to move against her hand. Yup, ready and willing.

Kitty smiled in anticipation. It had been a while since they'd done something this daring, but she was pretty positive that her sometimes too well-behaved marshal was now beyond worrying about propriety.

Sliding her fingers firmly up the length of him one more time – a little insurance never hurt – she slipped her hand around his belt, deftly unbuckling it, and then without pausing slipped her fingers inside his waistband and made quick work of the buttons on his fly, already straining at their holes.

"Kitty…" Apparently Matt still had some thought for their location. Kitty slid her hand beneath his clothing, wanting him to feel her cool fingers against his heated flesh.

"Kitty…" This time her name was a ragged moan, signaling his surrender.

Pulling back slightly, Kitty captured his lips for a quick, intense kiss before moving in to whisper seductively in his ear. "Help me mount up, Marshal. I want to take Deputy Matt for a ride."

A shudder of desire ran through his long frame. She leaned over him, slipping her thumbs under the waistband of his pants and tugging. He lifted his hips obediently, then immediately reached for her. Pulling up her skirt and petticoats, Kitty let Matt help lift her onto his lap.

Bracing her arms on his broad shoulders, she felt his long fingers sliding up her legs to the open seam where her lacy cotton drawers parted at the apex of her thighs. Happy that this most sensible style of female undergarment did not require removal, she moaned her appreciation as his exploring fingers confirmed her readiness for him.

As always, Kitty reveled in the intense sensations of their joining. The feeling of taking him inside her, becoming one flesh as they were forever one heart, one soul, was the most exquisite experience she had ever known.

Just as they were starting to move in unison, the stage slowed slightly and then began to bounce up and down over what was clearly a particularly bad stretch of road. Kitty couldn't help giggling as the erratic motion repeatedly disrupted their efforts to set a rhythm. Matt's attempt at a stern look just made her chuckle harder. He switched tactics, increasing the intensity of his actions, and she forgot her amusement as waves of pleasure coursed through her body.

Their reverie was broken again when the driver's voice suddenly drifted down from above. "Sorry about the rough ride, folks. About a mile of this and then we'll be back up to speed!" Then as an afterthought, "Everybody okay in there?"

Matt's alarmed look sent Kitty into another spasm of giggles. His voice was a bit deeper than normal, but he managed to call out, "We're just fine – no need to worry!"

"Okay!" The driver's voice was cheery. "You all just hang on a little longer, and all this bumpin' and bouncin' will be over with."

Kitty smiled saucily down at the flushed face of the handsome man beneath her. "I'm quite enjoying all this "bumpin' and bouncin'" myself, how 'bout you Cowboy?"

"Nuff talk, time to ride" was the deep, growling reply, as he pulled her to him for a passionate kiss. And indeed there was no more talk for a while, only creaking wood and muffled sounds of pleasure.

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As the stagecoach lurched over the final yards of rutted road, the driver thought he heard his passengers' voices calling out each other's names. Hoping nobody had been hurt, he quickly pulled on the reins again to slow the stage. "You folks all right? Want I should pull over?" He sure hoped everything was okay with the Marshal and his lady.

Inside the coach, the Marshal in question was slumped back against the seat, a sheen of sweat covering his bared chest, trying to catch his breath. The lady in question was still in his lap, in his arms, breathing hard but nuzzling happily against his neck.

At the sound of the driver's voice, Matt's blue eyes snapped open. Surely the driver wouldn't actually stop and check on them! The man would have to be six kinds of idiot not to know exactly what they'd been up to in his stage. Matt could feel his cheeks growing warm at the thought of being caught, literally, with his pants down.

"Kitty!" he hissed, taking hold of her arms, "Get up, quickly!"

Kitty responded by lifting her head from his shoulder, dropping a soft kiss on his lips, and calling out, "Everything's fine in here, Mr. Buck! I got bounced around a little, but the Marshal took care of me, and I'm just fine! We just want to get to Garden City!" Smiling down into his wide blue eyes, she favored her man with a slow, provocative wink.

"That's good, ma'am!" The driver sounded quite relieved. "Next stop's only a little ways!" With a snap of the reins he had the team back up to speed.

Matt released the breath he'd been holding. He momentarily entertained the idea of chastising the impish redhead, currently smiling down at him like a cat with cream on its whiskers, but just as quickly abandoned the idea as both futile and ill-advised. A man had to know his limitations.

Instead he decided to focus on what she'd just said, or rather, the double entendre in what she'd said. Pulling her down to him, he gave her a very deliberate and thorough kiss. When they both needed to breathe, he pulled back a fraction and whispered warmly, "So I took good care of you, did I?"

Kitty's initial answer was a low, sultry chuckle, a sound that always sent a shiver of desire through his body.

"Absolutely, Cowboy." A slow, satisfied smile. "That was quite a ride, as usual."

His answering smile was full of satisfaction. "Anytime, ma'am. It's my pleasure to serve, as always."

Laughing happily at his cockiness, Kitty pushed herself upright in his lap and quickly refastened her corset and bodice. The top half of her clothes in place, she bent down to kiss him firmly, stifling his disappointed groan as she slid off his lap, breaking their intimate connection.

Quickly refastening his own clothes, Matt contented himself with a final look at her shapely legs as she sat down next to him to rearrange her skirt and petticoats.

After she'd returned her clothing to a semblance of propriety, he happily slid an arm around her shoulders. As she snuggled against him, he wondered how he ever got so lucky, and why he'd thought traveling by stage was necessarily such a bad idea. He smiled to himself – sure enough, this was one stage ride he wouldn't soon forget!

Up ahead, at the stage stop between Cimarron and Pierceville, a lone cowboy leaned against the hitching post in front of the weathered building, watching and waiting. His thoughts were an eerie mirror of Dillon's, except that he was sure this stage ride would not only be an unforgettable one for the Dodge Marshal, it would be his last.


	2. Chapter 2 The Way Station

**Chapter 2 The Way Station**

As the stage pulled up to the station that marked the halfway point between Cimarron and Pierceville, only the proprietor, a small wizened man named Sam Dooley, was out front to meet it. The cowboy who'd been watching so carefully had gone inside and was peering through the curtains.

Dooley saw the cowboy's hurried retreat from the approaching stage, but spared it no more than a moment's thought. The ways of drifters and cow punchers were often hard to figure, and he had no time to waste on anyone who wasn't demanding his immediate attention. Right now, that was the big cowboy stepping out of the stage, whom he quickly identified as Marshal Dillon from Dodge City.

The marshal turned and offered his hand to a red-haired beauty in a green traveling suit. Given the dazzlingly seductive smile she favored him with as he helped her down, Dooley figured she must be the famous – or infamous, depending on how you viewed such things – Kitty Russell, owner of the Long Branch Saloon, who was widely understood to keep intimate, and exclusive, company with the legendary lawman. If the adoring look he gave her in return was any indication, Dooley figured she had the big guy wrapped pretty securely around her little finger – not a bad place to be at all, in Dooley's estimation.

Sighing at the luck of some men, he smiled in greeting and waved them into the building. "Howdy, Marshal! You and the lady 'jes go on in and make yerselves ta home. There's a washroom in the back, and coffee and stew on the stove."

"Much obliged." The big marshal's smile was friendly. He turned to Jim Buck then, inquiring, "How long?"

Jim Buck squinted over at the corral, where a replacement team was grazing. "Should be about 20 minutes, Marshal, and we'll be on our way."

The sound of hooves on the packed dirt caused them all to turn. A bay horse, whose rider Dooley recognized as the watchful cowboy, galloped out from behind the building and headed off down the road toward Pierceville. Soon only a cloud of dust was visible. Dooley shook his head. "Folks is always in such a tearing hurry these days."

Looking at the marshal, he saw the lawman's gaze fixed on the retreating rider. Dillon turned to look at him, his eyes an icy blue. "Do you know who that was?"

Dooley shook his head, wondering why the marshal was interested. "Nope, he rode up this morning. Didn't offer a name. Seemed to be waitin' on someone." He shrugged. "Maybe he was expectin' somebody else to be on the stage with you folks."

"Maybe." Dillon's eyes followed the vanishing dust cloud.

"Matt." The woman touched Dillon's arm, causing him to look down and smile at her. "Can we go in now?"

"Sure." He held out an arm, and the couple retreated inside.

Dooley moved to help the driver unhitch the team. "You're a little late gettin' here, Jim – any trouble?"

"Nah, just that bad patch of road about two miles back – where the road got washed out when the crick flooded last month, remember?"

Dooley nodded. That had been quite a rainstorm.

"It's gettin' worse by the day, I swear." The driver shook his head mournfully as he freed one of the team from its traces and started to walk it to the corral. "I had to slow down a good bit just to keep the stage from rattlin' apart, and even so I'm afraid I bounced the Marshal and Miss Kitty around somethin' fierce!"

"Well, they seem to be none the worse for it," Dooley observed as he led the second horse to the corral. So his guess about her identity had been right.

"Yeah, well, he's a tough one, and she's tougher, so I guess they could handle a bit o' bouncin' about." Buck grinned. "Besides, if it twere me, I'd not mind havin' a reason ta keep a tight holt of the little lady, jes' ta make sure she'd not come ta any harm, ya know."

Dooley grinned back. "You can bet I would, if'n I were ever to get so lucky!"

Buck chuckled at the idea. "Yeah, well I ain't holdin' my breath for that kinda luck!" He sobered slightly. "Anyways, I can't hardly begrudge the man – he's got a job most would run from after a week, and he never lets up. If he's found him a soft place to land when he gits home, I say good fer him! Miss Kitty, she's a game 'un, too. She's got a cooler head than most men I ever met. Well, exceptin' when she gets her Irish up – then even the marshal knows to duck!" Chuckling at his own observation, the driver concluded, "Yep, everbody says it's her what keeps him goin' – that she's the reason he keeps beatin' the odds."

Dooley nodded, clucking at the horse he was backing into the traces. "Yep, I kin sure see that. You could bet I'd work extrey hard to get home meself, if'n I had the likes o' her waitin' fer me!"

Meanwhile, two miles up the road, the cowboy who'd galloped away from the stage stop pulled up in front of several others. When he spoke, his voice was low and raspy thanks to years of smoking bad cigars. "Dillon is on his way. Deke was right, he done took the stage, but Deke missed somethin' – he ain't alone!" The others looked nervously at each other.

"Well spit it out, Tex!" The speaker was a small, mean-looking fellow with close-cropped hair and a partly missing left ear.

Tex glared at the other man. "Don't get yer britches in a wad, Frank. It ain't a lawman or nothin'. From what I saw at the station, he's got his woman with him. Quite a looker, too. Be some extra trouble, I know, but I'm thinkin' the Boss'd be plum tickled to get her in the bargain."

Frank looked at the other two men who'd been waiting with him. They were nodding in agreement, but as usual, were looking to him to decide. "Right. If we can grab her without it slowin' us down too much, we take her. If she looks to be too much trouble, we shoot her." The other men nodded their acceptance of this ruling. "Okay, let's get movin' – we got us a stage to catch!"

Kicking their horses into a gallop, the four men headed south toward the tree-lined banks of the nearby Arkansas River, to hide and await their prey.


	3. Chapter 3 Intercepted

**Chapter 3 Intercepted**

Kitty Russell let out a contented sigh. The stagecoach was still bumping along, the seat still too hard, and the temperature rising as the afternoon sun broke through the clouds to bake the plains, but none of that could spoil her mood. She was right where she most liked to be, snuggled against the muscular chest of her man, his strong arm holding her tight against him. And they were alone. Totally, blessedly alone, and far away from Dodge and the many responsibilities that seemed to control their lives so much of the time.

A particularly hard series of jolts had her grabbing onto Matt's jacket as he wrapped his other arm around her to keep her from bouncing off the seat. Kitty started to chuckle as she recalled the earlier 'bouncing' they'd been doing – another reason for her sunny mood. Her man had done his usual thorough job of satisfying her, and a satisfied Kitty was a happy Kitty.

She was secure as well in the knowledge that she'd more than returned the favor. Since they'd gotten back on the stage for the rest of the leg to Pierceville, Matt had been relaxed and drowsing, periodically issuing a satisfied sigh and squeezing her to him a little tighter, letting his hand wander slowly up and down her side in a gently sensuous caress.

He was alert now, though, hanging on to her as the coach bumped and jolted over the bad stretch of road. Kitty's chuckling turned into laughter. "Oh, my! Matt, don't let go of me!"

"Never." Matt's voice was deep and sure.

Glancing up, Kitty met his steady blue gaze, marveling as always at how much her taciturn cowboy could tell her with just a look. This one spoke loud and clear of his steadfast love for her. Her heart drank deeply from the well of his love as her eyes held his, wanting him to see the answering devotion in hers.

The road seemed to be smoothing out finally, and he relaxed his hold a little, bending down to steal a lingering kiss. "You okay?"

"More than okay, thanks to you, Cowboy." Kitty's soft purr and seductive smile made him grin at the clear reference to their earlier activities.

"Like I said, ma'am, we aim to please." As if to illustrate his point, he tipped her chin and kissed her thoroughly.

She was slightly out of breath when he finished. "Oh, I'm very pleased." She smiled up at him. "And I intend to be even more pleased later this evening, once I finally get you out of this stage and into a bed!"

Matt's eyes were twinkling mischievously. "Well, then, I'd best get some rest while I can, make sure I'm up and ready when you need me!" Suiting actions to words, he leaned back against the seat and tipped his Stetson down over his eyes.

Smiling happily as he pulled her close, Kitty resettled herself against him, figuring she should probably try to rest a bit herself if she wanted to take full advantage of their first evening together.

While the contented couple drowsed, Jim Buck was peering hard at the horizon. Through the dust haze he could just make out what looked like several riders off to the south, moving fast and unless he was mistaken, heading their way. Of course, there were lots of reasons a bunch of cowboys might be heading toward the main road, but for some reason he had a bad feeling about these.

Maybe it was because they weren't heading straight for the road. They were moving at an angle to it, on a track that aimed them in the general direction of his stage. Jim Buck didn't like that, because people wanting to intercept his stage was pretty much **never** a good thing. At the very least it meant trouble for one of his passengers.

Of course, he mused, given that he was carrying a U.S. Marshal, he should probably be expecting someone to interrupt the trip with some sort of urgent message. Or they could just be a group of cowhands from a nearby ranch, headed north, just by chance crossing his path.

That's probably what it was, he admitted. He was getting twitchier every year he spent in this business. But still, it never hurt to be cautious. Buck shifted the rifle into his lap, ready to provide whatever sort of welcome the situation required.

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At the head of the riders, Frank Mason spurred his horse to greater speed, his eyes fixed on the approaching target. He could see the driver now, alone atop the stage. Looked like he had his rifle ready. That was to be expected. Man would have to be an idiot not to take at least that precaution. But no matter, they had a plan.

"Ready, boys?" He glanced back at the other three, riding just behind and to either side of him. They nodded, as intent as he on their goal. If they were lucky, the driver would figure them for local cowboys heading for one of the ranches near Pierceville.

"Okay, Billy, get ready." Frank glanced at the youngest of the riders, wishing again that the Boss hadn't entrusted this key part of the plan to the least experienced member of the group. Barely out of his teens, Billy Doyle was a wild lad, with an Irish temper to match his thatch of red hair, and a line of blarney to complement his deep blue eyes and cheeky grin. Women couldn't seem to get enough of him, and even the Boss seemed to be taken in by his charm.

For his part, Frank distrusted men who came by fortune too easily. When things got tough, it surprised them, and surprised men made stupid mistakes. He just hoped Billy would do as he was told, when he was told, and leave the thinking to those that knew what they were doing, namely him.

If he were planning any harebrained stunts, Billy didn't let on, simply nodding his understanding, grabbing hold of the burlap sack hanging off the pommel of his saddle and slipping a Bowie knife out of its sheath on his leg.

As their horses reached the road, only a dozen yards or so ahead of the stage, Billy dropped slightly behind the others. Out of the corner of his eye Frank could see the flash of Billy's knife. The boy's jubilant whoop told him the deed was done, and he veered off again to ride north away from the road.

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Jim Buck watched the four cowboys cross onto the road maybe a dozen yards ahead of him. The trailing rider was looking at something down by his leg. Suddenly something tumbled to the dirt. The rider looked back, but didn't try to retrieve what he'd dropped. Instead all four riders veered off the road, heading north. It didn't make much sense, any of it, but that bad feeling he had wasn't going away. Whatever the last cowboy had dropped was lying in the road just ahead of him, but he couldn't make it out.

Jim hauled on the reins, staring hard at the unknown object just ahead of him. Suddenly it moved, and in a horrified second, he realized what it was. Unfortunately, so did the horses, and before he could react, they whinnied in fear and bolted. Before he could yell down a warning for his passengers to hang on, the stage left the road, lurching hard as one wheel found a large hillock and its mate a hole. Jim had to grab onto the wooden seat to keep from being thrown from the stage as they went careening across the prairie.

Jim recovered his balance and hauled on the reins, but the horses were more afraid of the snake than of their driver, and neither he nor the stage they dragged behind them were going to stop them from making their escape.

Then things got worse. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim spotted the four cowboys. They'd circled around and were headed straight for the stage. He wished he could imagine otherwise, but he knew in his gut they weren't rushing to help. They were homing in on their prey.


	4. Chapter 4 Captured

**Chapter 4 Captured**

As they circled back and bore down on the stage, Frank started shouting orders. "Billy, grab onto a lead horse and get that team under control! Eli, you head for the far side! Tex, you're with me! All of you watch out for that Marshal's gun!" The two men split off as ordered, Billy coming up alongside the panicked horses, Eli looping around to come at the careening stagecoach from the far side.

Now just a couple of yards away, Frank raised his gun and pointed it at the driver, who despite the trouble he was having with his team, had shifted all the reins to one hand and was trying to grab for the rifle that had fallen at his feet. "Don't try it, Mister, or it'll be the last thing you ever do!"

The driver apparently believed him, because he stopped trying and retook the reins in both hands. Meanwhile, Billy had reached one of the lead horses and grabbed the reins near its head. Between the two of them, they finally got the team under control, and the stage slowly pulled to a stop.

Keeping his gun trained on the driver, Frank rode up alongside. "Okay, Mister, throw down that rifle, and then you climb down and lay on your belly. Take it nice and slow, now. I'll kill you if I have to." The man did as he was told, tossing the rifle aside and slowly climbing to the ground.

Frank gestured with his gun. "Now lay down on your belly, like I told you, and put yer hands on the back of yer head." Slowly, the driver complied, stretching out on the ground next to the stage.

Frank swung down off his horse and walked over to where the driver lay in the dirt. The man turned his head toward Frank, looking up at him fearfully. Frank smiled ferally, just to watch the man blanch. "That was real good. I'd just as soon kill you, myself, but you're in luck – Boss said not to shoot you 'lessn I had to, so I reckon I'll just do this instead…" Drawing his revolver, Frank flipped it to grab onto the barrel and brought the butt down hard on the back of the driver's head, knocking him out.

Eli and Tex were on either side of the stage, guns aimed at the leather-covered windows. Frank was a bit surprised that their intended target hadn't tried to shoot them from the relative protection of the stagecoach. Then again, the man was just as likely to be crouched inside, waiting for them to open the door so he could cut them down.

But Frank knew he had a trump card, one the Marshal didn't realize he had. One he was more than willing to play. Raising his gun, he fired it into the air once. That should focus the man's attention.

"Marshal!" Frank used his most authoritative tone. "We know you've got a woman in there with you. You've got 10 seconds to throw out your gun and open the door, or we'll start shootin'."

Only a few seconds ticked by before a voice answered from within the stage. Frank was startled that it was a woman's. "The Marshal can't answer. He hit his head and he's not conscious."

Frank immediately assumed it was a trap, but there was only one way to find out. "Marshal! If you're playin' possum in there, you need to know that I'll shoot yer woman the minute I see you move. It's you we're after, not her, so it's nothin' to me if she dies."

The female voice responded, irritated and angry. "Listen, Mister, I don't know what you're after or why, but the Marshal was knocked out when the horses bolted. If you want someone to open the door, I'll do it. There's no need to start shooting."

Frank considered for a second. He was inclined to think maybe the woman really was the only one conscious in there. "Okay, lady. You open the door then, real slow, and throw out the Marshal's gun. And remember, you try anything, we start shootin'."

There was the brief sound of someone moving around in the stage, and then the woman called out again. "I'm opening the door now." Slowly the stage door swung away from the side of the carriage, revealing a woman crouched next to the tumbled body of a large man. From all appearances, he was as she said, out cold. The woman was dangling a revolver by its handle. Slowly she stretched out her arm and tossed it free of the coach.

Only then did she look up, and Frank's breath caught, not only because of the scalding look she gave him, but because it was coming from a pair of enormous sapphire eyes, set in an exquisitely sculpted face, beneath a cascade of coppery ringlets only slightly less bright than Billy's. She was a knockout, the Marshal's woman. Right then, Frank decided if at all possible, they were taking her with them.

Feeling quite off-balance, Frank barked orders to cover his reaction. "Tex, get over there and get the lady down from the stage! Eli, open the other door and see if you can pull the Marshal out! Billy, you help him!"

His men jumped to follow his directions. The woman's stare narrowed as she gazed steadily at him. Frank felt he was being measured. He didn't like it.

Before he could decide what to do about it, Tex had dismounted and reached the side of the stage. The redhead turned her attention to his outstretched hand. The expression on her face spoke her contempt loud and clear, but she said nothing, simply taking the offered hand while alighting from the stage, then letting go the second her feet were on the ground.

Immediately she turned back toward the stage to watch as Eli and Billy grabbed the big Marshal's shoulders and began to drag him out of the stage. "Be careful! He's injured!"

Frank squinted in displeasure. From her tone, you'd think they were her servants, not her captors. "You… Red! Shut your mouth! I'll tell you when you can talk." Her steely blue gaze cut through him like a knife through cheese. To his shame, he looked away.

Eli and Billy had succeeded in lifting the huge marshal out of the stage and dragged him around to the back, depositing him on the ground. The woman rushed to crouch down at his side, lifting his head into her lap and then looking up to shoot Frank another deadly glare.

Frank pretended not to be affected, strolling up to stare down at the unconscious man. His tone was thoughtful. "He's a big 'un, all right." Now he met the woman's glare. "He's gotta ride, so we gotta wake him up." Holding out a hand. "Tex, gimme yer canteen. We'll douse him, see if that does the trick."

Just then Dillon gave a low groan. The woman looked down, stroking his face. "Matt? Wake up, Matt."

The man's eyes fluttered open, blinking a few times, then fixed on her face. "Kitty? What happened?"

Frank grinned. Kitty. Interesting name. Interesting woman.

"Matt, the stage was ambushed. You were knocked out when the horses bolted."

The marshal turned his head, squinting up at Frank and Tex. Frank casually drew his gun, pointing it at the couple. "Howdy, Marshal." His smile was anything but friendly. "You're our prisoner. The little lady too, unless one of you does something stupid and I have to shoot her."

"Who are you?" the big lawman demanded, trying to sit up. Even with the woman's help, he could barely manage. Frank observed that he had to lean on her to stay upright.

"It's not me should concern you, Marshal. It's who I work for. You'll be meetin' him shortly, but first we've got to get you on a horse. Tex, give the man your canteen."

Tex did as ordered. The lawman took a drink, then allowed his woman to take the canteen from him. She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule, poured a bit of the water on it, and gently ran the damp cloth over his face. Rewetting it, she nimbly unbuttoned his shirt and stroked it down over his neck and chest. This seemed to help revive him a little, to Frank's relief. He needed the man to be able to sit a horse, but he really didn't like loitering around the hijacked stage like this, in full view of anyone who might come along.

After a few seconds, the big man gathered his legs under him, clearly intending to stand. The woman quickly handed the canteen back to Tex. With her assisting him, Dillon managed to get to his feet. In Frank's opinion, however, he wasn't going to stay that way long, even with her help. Best to get him on a horse quickly. He'd have to count on the woman to keep him from falling off.

"Billy, unhitch one of those horses. We'll put the two of 'em up together. Tex, you take the reins and lead their horse. Eli, get their baggage. I don't want to leave anything of theirs behind."

The men sprang to obey him, and in no time Billy had one of the horses unhitched and brought around to stand by the stage. Frank walked up to the lawman, eyeing him up and down. He looked like he might topple over at any moment, but once he'd had a little time to recover, Frank reckoned he could be trouble. "Okay, big man, listen carefully. You're going to get on that horse, and I'm going to put the little lady up behind you. I'm tying you two together, so you'd best stay on, or you'll crush her when you fall. Understand?"

Dillon's ice blue eyes regarded him with professional detachment. Frank had to suppress a shiver. He was used to having the upper hand in these situations, being able to watch his victims cower and whimper and try to bargain. But this man was a different breed. There was no 'give' in those eyes, no fear, and no mercy. He'd heard Dillon was a tough customer, and apparently the stories had not exaggerated.

Finally the lawman spoke. "Mister, I don't know what your 'boss' wants with me, but if it's me you want, let the lady go. Let her ride off unharmed, and I'll come quietly – you have my word."

Frank laughed sourly. "No deal, Dillon, she comes too. You try anything – anything, you hear? – and she's dead. Understood?"

Frank could see anger in the icy blue stare, but the man was a cool customer. He simply nodded, his voice even. "I understand you, mister. Now you understand this. If you go through with this, it'll be the biggest mistake you ever made. I'll give you one chance to ride off and let us go. If you have any smarts, you'll take it."

Frank laughed, admiring the man's mettle despite himself. "Nice try, Dillon. Now mount up. Tex, help him."

With a leg-up from Tex, the big man was able to straddle the barebacked carriage horse, his long legs dangling well below the horse's belly. Still clearly dazed, he gripped the front of the harness where it crossed the animal's withers. Frank stared hard, pondering. He'd planned on tying the man's hands behind him, but in his current condition he was doubtful that Dillon would be able to keep his balance, especially with no saddle to help. Then an inspiration hit him.

Mounting up, he sidled his horse over to the marshal's, head to tail so they were facing. Reaching over, he grabbed the lapels of his gray wool jacket and the partially unbuttoned linen shirt beneath. With a vicious tug, he pulled the clothing down over the man's shoulders until it was stretched tightly around his huge chest, pinning his arms against his sides. Sitting back, Frank admired his handiwork. The big man could still hang on to the harness, but not much else.

"Okay, Tex, put the little lady up behind him, and we'll lash 'em together."

As Tex moved to touch her, the woman – Kitty, he remembered – jerked away. "Get your hands off me!"

Frank thought he saw a flicker of fear in the big marshal's eyes. Yup, she was going to prove useful. He turned his attention to her. Gods but she was stunning when she was riled up like this, blue eyes burning with anger, chin in the air, that luscious cleavage quivering with indignation. He felt his groin tighten. He was sure the boss was going to want to sample this beauty. Frank hoped he'd be willing to share once he was done with her.

"Listen, Red, stop yer fussin' and let Tex help you – unless you'd like to ride with me instead." He favored her with a broad leer, his hand involuntarily sliding down to the front of his jeans. "I'd be glad to put you up in front of me – we could get better acquainted."

He was positive he saw fear in her eyes in the second before she regained her poker face. "Fine." Her voice bristled with disapproval. She turned away to look pointedly at Tex. "Well, give me a leg up, then." Formidable woman, Frank thought. Tex actually looked a bit intimidated as he cupped his hands for her to step in. She mounted easily with that assistance – an experienced rider as well, Frank assessed.

Adjusting her skirts, she snugged herself up close behind the marshal, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Eli, bring that rope over and tie them together with it, nice and tight."

Eli sidled his horse over where Frank's had been a minute before, unlooping his lariat and settling the noose around the pair. Snugging it tightly around their waists, he wrapped it several times around them, then tied it off behind the woman's back.

Frank surveyed his handiwork. He thought it would serve. The big marshal was still looking a bit dazed, hanging on tightly to the leather straps of the harness in front of him. His chest and shoulders were bared to the sun, his shirt and coat stretched taut across his stomach, binding his arms to his sides just above the elbows.

The woman was pressed tightly against him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek against his back. Eli's lariat was looped around the pair four or five times, binding them tightly together. No chance of him trying anything with her lashed to him like that. Frank nodded to himself. Yup, it would do.

Satisfied, he surveyed his men. All had remounted, and Tex had the reins of the horse carrying their prisoners, who were still sitting quietly, showing no signs of wanting to act up.

"Okay boys, let's get the hell out of here!" Kicking his mount into an easy lope, Frank led his raiding party and their prize north toward the boss's hideout, happily anticipating the rewards, both monetary and carnal, that he figured would await him once they reached their destination.


	5. Chapter 5 The Hideout

**Chapter ****5 The Hideout**

The sun was finally beginning to descend in the sky, stretching out the shadows of the group of horses traveling quickly across the prairie. It was actually not a bad day for a ride, Kitty reflected, were it not for the circumstances. As it was, her back and neck ached from the unnatural position they'd been forced into for the last several hours, and she figured it would be several days before she'd willingly sit down on anything harder than a feather bed.

She was more worried about Matt, however. She was pretty sure he'd suffered a mild concussion when the stagecoach team bolted. He ought to be lying down in the shade with lots of cool compresses, not riding for hours in the sun without even a shirt or hat to protect him.

He'd been stoically silent for most of the ride so far – in fact she was pretty sure he'd dozed off once or twice while the horses were being held to a walk to rest them – but she knew he was working the problem in his mind, trying to come up with some sort of escape plan.

Kitty noticed that the tension level among their captors seemed to be rising. She wondered if perhaps they were finally nearing their destination. Matt seemed to be more alert too, as if sensing the same thing.

The leader of the group – Kitty thought she'd heard one of the others call him 'Frank' – turned and stared at them. Kitty didn't like what she saw in his eyes. Not at all. He looked at Matt like a hungry, bored cat with an injured mouse under its paw.

And the way he looked at her, sliding his eyes up and down her body – Kitty knew that look very well. But this man wasn't a cow puncher in the saloon. She made the rules there, kept men like that at bay, but not here. All she could hope for was that the man's boss, whoever he was, would have rules that didn't include letting this animal have her.

Despite its double burden, the obedient carriage horse had loped steadily along in the wake of Tex's bay gelding. Now it lifted its head, sniffing the air and whinnying. From beyond the rise an answering whinny confirmed Kitty's intuition that they must be nearing the end of their journey.

The man called Frank checked his horse to come alongside them. Matt turned to stare at their captor, and Kitty could see the implacable anger in his wintry blue gaze. Frank actually looked away for a moment, Kitty noted with satisfaction. Not many men could stare down Matt Dillon.

When the outlaw's oily black eyes refocused on them, Kitty could see the hatred bubbling in their malevolent depths.

"Almost there, Dillon." His voice was cold and sneering. "Soon you'll meet the Boss man, and then you'll wish you never got on that stage."

His thin lips curved into a mockery of a smile. "And while you're enjoying the Boss's hospitality, Red and I can have us some fun." His eyes raked her body again before returning to her face. "Bet you're a lively one, eh 'Kitty'?" His voice caressed her name with unclean hands. She felt ill at the sound of it.

"Touch her and you'll die." Matt's voice was tense with anger.

The outlaw just laughed. "It's not me who has to worry about dying, Dillon. You'll see when we get there." With that he kicked his horse and galloped back to the head of the group.

Kitty pressed a kiss against the warm skin of Matt's shoulder. "How are you feeling, Cowboy?" His voice had sounded a bit stronger just then, but she couldn't imagine he was doing that well, given what he'd been through.

"I'll be fine, Kitty. It's you I'm worried about."

Kitty shook her head at the sheer predictability of that response. "I'm not the one who's been riding for hours after suffering a concussion." She pressed another quick kiss to his back, as much to reassure herself as him. "Matt, I can handle the likes of him. It's you his boss is after, and it sounded to me like he means to kill you!"

"Kitty, I don't know what this 'Boss' man is after, but I **do** know what that man wants. You have to try to escape. If I can see a way to cause a diversion, I will, and I want you to make a run for it, first chance you get."

Kitty sighed. "Matt Dillon, if you think I'm going to run off and leave you to the mercy of these men and their crazy Boss, your concussion must be worse than I thought!"

"Kitty…"

"No, Matt, it's no use. I'm not going to leave you, so you might as well give up." They were almost to the top of the rise now, and she spotted a chimney, which grew a roof, and then walls. "Look, Matt! That must be the hideout!"

Matt lifted his head and stared hard at the building. It appeared to be a largish farmhouse, its rough boards gray from years of sun and rain. As they topped the rise, she could see several men lounging on the long porch that ran across the back of the building. As soon as one of them spotted the approaching riders, he called out to those inside. All of the loungers stood up to inspect the new arrivals.

As they crossed the large back pasture, the door opened and several more men came out. Kitty particularly noticed the last one. He was a solid, fit-looking six feet, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. He wore black pants and a white shirt with a string tie, but no hat, his black hair slicked back with pomade. As they drew closer, she could see his cold dark eyes stared fixedly at them, seeming to drill right through Matt to reach her.

Kitty shivered. Unless she was very much mistaken, this was the 'Boss' – and he looked to be her worst fear come true. She saw no mercy in those eyes, no humanity. Whatever this man wanted with Matt, none of it would be good. Pressing her cheek against the solid warmth of Matt's back, Kitty hugged him fiercely, wishing she could believe that if she just didn't let go, she could keep anything bad from happening to him.

She felt Matt stiffen. "Cole Marston."

Kitty didn't like the sound of his voice. "You recognize him, Matt? Who is he?"

"I sent his brother Clint to prison – he was part of a gang robbing banks around Hays a couple of years back. Got word a few weeks ago that Clint had been killed. Tried to cheat some of his fellow prisoners. Guards found him hanging from the water tower one morning."

Kitty felt cold tendrils of fear wrap around her insides. It was suddenly all too clear what this man wanted with Matt – revenge. The only thing left to find out was just **how** he was going to go about exacting it.

As their horses reached the yard, Tex halted his bay and turned to glare at them. "Don't you two be gettin' any ideas." He dismounted and handed his horse off to Billy. Eli took the bridle of the carriage horse. Frank and several of the men from the porch walked up to them, then parted to let Cole Marston approach.

Hatred radiated from Marston's dark eyes as he stared long and hard at his prisoner.

"Get them down." Marston's voice was flat and cold.

Frank and Tex jumped to obey, untying the rope that bound them together. Tex grabbed her roughly and yanked her off the horse, depositing her on the ground. Before Matt could react, Frank grabbed handfuls of his coat and hauled hard. Unable even to break his fall, his arms still pinned to his sides, Matt hit the ground hard, lying sprawled on his back next to her. The impact knocked a groan from his chest. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear it.

Rousing herself from her own shock, Kitty bent over him, quickly unfastening the buttons on his jacket and shirt so he could move his arms again. She'd barely finished when she felt Frank's hands on her shoulders, pulling her backwards. "You sit still 'til you're told otherwise!"

Marston's cold eyes flicked over her. He looked at Frank. "Who is she?"

Frank smiled. It was not a nice smile. "He came by stage, and she were with him. Seems to be his woman. Figured she was a bonus." He bared his teeth again, then looked down at her, unconsciously running his tongue over his bottom lip.

Marston looked at her more carefully. Kitty felt almost violated as his cold eyes stroked over her body, savoring her feminine curves. She saw him swallow involuntarily, and suppressed a shudder. Frank was clearly not the only man whose intentions she had to worry about.

"What's your name?" he commanded.

Kitty glared up at him, but let a sarcastic retort die on her lips. This man was a rattlesnake, not to be poked. She allowed herself only a disdainful tone as she answered. "Kitty Russell. And you are?"

Marston lips curved into a smile; his eyes were cold, but Kitty thought she saw a flicker of respect there. "Well, well." He glanced over at Frank. "Your guess was correct, Frank." He returned his gaze to her, his dark eyes intense. "The famous Kitty Russell. Two things everyone in Dodge City knows about her: she owns the Long Branch, best saloon in Dodge, and she's off-limits. That is, unless you wanna tangle with him." He jerked his head toward the big man sprawled on the ground before him. "Of course, he doesn't look so big and mean, now, does he boys?" Unpleasant chuckles from Frank and the others.

Kitty saw that Matt was still somewhat dazed, but as the outlaw stared down at him, Matt pushed himself up to a sitting position, shrugging his shoulders back into his shirt and jacket. Glaring up at their captor, he broke the silence. "Well, Mister, now that we're here, what's your plan?"

Marston bent down, a cold sneer marring his face. Suddenly, he raised an arm and struck, a vicious backhand across the cheek that sent Matt toppling sideways onto the dirt. A stab of worry sucked the breath out of Kitty's lungs. The last thing Matt needed in his condition was more trauma to his head!

Shaking his head to clear it, Matt rolled back into a sitting position. Marston was grinning, but there was nothing positive in the expression. He was savoring his victory, and contemplating his revenge.

"I ask the questions around here, Dillon. You'll find out the answers soon enough." Marston executed a sharp turn and headed back into the house, calling over his shoulder. "Bring 'em inside, boys."

Kitty quickly pushed herself to her feet before Tex could assist her, but her plan to help Matt was thwarted as Tex grabbed her arm, his iron grip preventing her from moving forward.

She could only watch as Eli and Billy grabbed Matt by the arms and hauled him up. He was still unsure on his feet, but somehow he managed to walk, steadied by their hold on his arms. Kitty fought down her fury and forced herself to follow along behind, not wanting her actions to provoke further retribution on Matt.

The farmhouse was reasonably clean and neat inside, if spare and basic in its furnishings. The large main room had a stone fireplace at one end, near which were a variety of chairs, all currently occupied by the cowboys she'd seen on the porch earlier.

A big wooden trestle table with long benches was piled with tin plates, cups and utensils, apparently in anticipation of the evening meal. Judging from the smells emanating from the large cookstove on the far side of the room, supper appeared to be some sort of chicken stew and biscuits. Kitty's mouth watered. It had been quite a while since they'd last eaten.

Tex shoved her down onto one of the benches, her back to the table. Billy and Eli did the same with Matt, making sure to seat him a few feet away from her, so they couldn't whisper. Or touch. Kitty ached to touch him, to lay his head in her lap and run a cool cloth over his flushed skin. Instead, all she could do was watch and worry.

He looked over at her, his bright blue eyes filled with concern. A nasty-looking bruise was already forming on his cheek where Marston had back-handed him. She smiled at him, trying to look confident. Hoping he wouldn't try to do anything heroic on her behalf. Knowing that was like asking the sun not to shine.

Marston interrupted their unspoken conversation, coming over to stand in front of Matt. "So, Dillon, have you figured out who I am yet?" His voice held the sneering confidence of one who counts himself already the victor in the coming contest.

Matt straightened up and stared back at his captor. There was no back-up in Matt Dillon. Kitty saw a flicker of doubt cross Marston's face.

Matt's voice was as hard as the sun-baked prairie. "You're Cole Marston. Wanted for murdering a couple of punchers over in Abilene. Your brother Clint went to prison for robbing banks. Got word he was killed a few weeks back by some men he cheated."

Marston's eyes narrowed at this description. His voice dripped venom. "My brother never would have gone to prison if it weren't for you, Dillon. The day that happened I swore I'd help him get revenge once he got out. Well, he never got out, but I'm going to make sure he gets his revenge."

"Marston, you think you've got a quarrel with me, fine. But she" Matt jerked his head at Kitty "has nothing to do with any of this. Let her go and we'll face off, any way you want it."

Marston laughed, a harsh barking sound. His eyes once again stroked the length of Kitty's body. He smiled, like a predator contemplating its next meal. "She's your woman, Dillon, so she's got plenty to do with it. Gotta give you this much, you've got good taste." That feral smile again. "I figure Frank has the right of it – she's a bonus, one I'm going to enjoy at my leisure once I'm finished with you."

Marston turned his gaze on Kitty. "I bet you're a wildcat in bed, aren't you Red?" Deliberately he reached out and stroked a finger across her cheek. Repulsed, she turned her head away, and immediately felt his fingers close on her jaw, hard enough to make her gasp in pain.

Forced to turn her head back to face him, she saw a horrible mix of anger and lust in his eyes. "You're going to please me, Red. It can go hard for you, or not so hard, but you're mine now. Your man there is as good as dead." He jerked his head at Matt. "You're going to watch him die, and he's going to die knowing he couldn't keep you from me."

Marston leaned in toward her, still holding her jaw. Kitty braced herself for further assault, praying that Matt would stay put. She expected Marston to try to kiss her, but he stopped just short, his lips hovering over hers. "Yes indeed, I'm going to enjoy having the Marshal's woman." Suddenly she felt his free hand grab her breast, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He chuckled low in his throat, enjoying her helplessness.

"Let her GO!" As Kitty had feared, Matt couldn't stop himself from trying to protect her. Roaring in anger, he launched himself at a surprised Marston, knocking him to the floor and grabbing for his throat.

For a few moments Marston's men just stared in stunned silence as the two men rolled and grappled on the wooden floor. Frank collected himself first and rushed over to the two men, trying to grab hold of some part of the big marshal without getting knocked over himself. Frank's action galvanized the rest, who leapt into the fray, grabbing any part of their Boss's attacker that they could find.

Matt Dillon was very big and very strong, but even he was no match for half a dozen angry men on top of the one he was wrestling. Almost in slow motion, they peeled him off their Boss, lifting him bodily and throwing him to the floor again.

Free of his attacker, Marston got to his feet, straightening his clothes. Rage flooded his features at the humiliation his prisoner had just inflicted. Several of his men grabbed Matt by the arms and hauled him to his feet. Marston walked over to his prisoner and stood for a few seconds staring into the lawman's unyielding blue eyes. This seemed to anger him even more.

Suddenly his arm lashed out, striking Matt backhanded across the same cheek he'd hit earlier. Before Matt could recover from the first blow, he struck the other cheek, whipping his victim's head back the other way. Somehow the action seemed only to increase his fury, and he began to strike Matt's face repeatedly, knocking his head from side to side. Kitty was paralyzed with fear, horrified that the beating would do permanent damage.

After a dozen blows, he seemed to tire of that action, pausing to stare at his prisoner. Matt could barely hold his head up, and was blinking as if to clear his vision. Just as Kitty started to breathe again, thinking Marston's rage spent, he lashed out again, balling his fist and hitting Matt as hard as he could in the stomach.

With a loud groan, Matt bent double. The cowboys holding him pulled him upright again, and Marston began beating him, landing blows on his chest and stomach and sides. Kitty could hardly bear to watch. Matt was now sagging between his two guards, clearly not able to stand on his own.

Finally Marston's fury seemed to be spent. Breathing heavily, he stepped back, rubbing his knuckles. His men were still, watching him, waiting to see what would happen next. After a moment's pause, he waved his arm at the men holding up Matt, motioning toward the table. The two men immediately dragged a limp Matt back over and deposited him on the bench.

Matt could barely sit unaided, leaning back against the edge of the table and breathing heavily, his head bowed. His unbuttoned shirt and coat hung away from his torso, the tanned skin already beginning to swell and bruise. Kitty fought back tears, almost unable to bear not reaching out to touch him, but unwilling to risk provoking Marston to further violence.

The sound of hoofbeats broke the spell. All heads turned toward the door. Three horses loped into the yard, pulling up in front of the porch. It was Frank who spoke. "Must be Gil and Maria, back with the supplies."

At his words, several of the men rose and headed outside. Kitty's interest was piqued by Frank's statement. Maria? There was a woman in the mix? Her mind whirling with possibilities, she watched Marston turn and follow his men out the door. Could this Maria be his woman? Was there perhaps an opportunity there?

Moments later Marston returned. Clinging to his arm was a voluptuous olive-skinned brunette, dressed for riding in a split skirt and boots. The way she was looking at Marston, Kitty was positive she either was or wanted to be his woman. The way he was looking at her, Kitty was also sure they were more than friends. She began to feel a small glimmer of hope. Perhaps Cole Marston did have an Achilles Heel after all.


	6. Chapter 6 Maria

**Chapter 6 Maria**

As they walked into the farmhouse, Maria smiled up into Cole's dark eyes, happy to be back with him after the journey to town for supplies. She was pleased to see the hunger in his gaze as he looked down at her – she had hoped her being away for two days would serve to whet his appetite.

Didn't do to let a man take you for granted, she thought, especially one like Cole, who had a taste for excitement. Well, she'd show him some excitement tonight! He said she was the best he'd ever had, she reminded herself. If she kept reminding him why he felt that way, he wouldn't need to go looking for another woman again.

She let her fingers stroke up over his bicep, giving him her sultriest stare. She was rewarded when he slid an arm around her and pulled her against his side as they walked. Looking away from him for a moment to survey the room, she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of two strangers sitting at the table.

Sprawled on the bench, his back to the table, was a large, handsome cowboy who looked like he'd been on the losing side of a serious fight. Sitting next to him was a stunning redhead in a smart-looking green travel outfit, who also looked like she'd had a long and less than happy day of it. The man seemed a bit dazed, but the woman was quite alert, and watching them carefully. Her shrewd stare was unnerving, and Maria decided she wasn't at all happy with this development.

"Cole, who are these people?" Her tone was a bit sharper than she'd intended.

She saw a flash of annoyance in Cole's dark eyes, but his voice was pleasant enough when he answered. "Ah, Querida, remember when I told you I was planning to avenge Clint's death? Well, that man there is Marshal Matt Dillon. He's the one who sent Clint to prison. He's **my** prisoner now, and he's going to find out firsthand about the suffering my brother went through, thanks to him." Cole smiled, but Maria saw death, not laughter, in his eyes.

Looking back at Cole's intended victim, Maria knew a moment's regret – what a waste to kill such a fine specimen of the male sex as this one! As he looked up at them, she noticed that he had beautiful blue eyes, the color of a summer sky, and an abundance of brown curls that looked like they'd be soft to the touch.

This one led a man's life, though, she thought, running an appraising eye over the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen, on display as he leaned back against the table. His tanned skin contrasted deliciously with his white shirt, which was completely unbuttoned and hung loosely away from his body.

He was a big one, too - a good six-and-a-half feet tall, she estimated, and solidly built. Maria let her eyes wander slowly down his body, admiring the broad shoulders, trim hips, and long muscular legs. All man, this Marshal Matt Dillon - well worth the trouble to have one like him warming your bed. She sighed inwardly. Too bad Cole had decided he had to die.

Of more immediate concern, however, was the other prisoner, the beautiful redhead. Looking back at Cole to ask about her, she caught him staring at the woman, and she did not like what she saw in his eyes. Anger, definitely, as with the man, but also lust. Cole definitely wanted that woman, and it appeared there was nothing to stop him from having what he wanted - except her, she thought. No way was she sharing her man with some strange woman! Especially not this one. The redhead not only had the sort of ample female charms that interested a man like Cole, she looked like she knew just how to use them.

Maria tried to make her voice casual. "But who is **she**?"

Cole gave her a sharp look, but merely replied. "That's his woman. She was with him when my men grabbed him. She's going to watch him die." She saw that ghoulish smile again. "And then she's going to find out what a real man feels like."

Maria felt a rush of jealousy, and then the sting of humiliation. She couldn't believe Cole as good as said he was planning to sleep with that woman, and in front of all his men, too! **She** was his woman, and she would not stand for him taking some other man's whore into their bed!

But she also knew that confrontation was not the way to get what you wanted from Cole – it just made him mean, as she had found out the hard way. She'd have to be subtle and careful, but she was determined to find a way to sabotage that part of his plan.

Maria swallowed her anger and gave Cole her sweetest smile. "I'm sure you've got it all figured out brilliantly, as usual, mi amor. But for the moment, why don't you make yourself comfortable by the fireplace, and I'll get us something to eat and drink. I'm pretty sure I smell chicken stew and biscuits – your favorite!"

Cole pulled away from her, a thoughtful look on his face. "You go ahead and eat – you must be hungry after that long ride. I haven't finished with my prisoners yet."

Maria was not at all happy with this answer, but she was nothing if not a practical woman, and if Cole was fixed on something, there was no diverting him. Besides, she **was** hungry, and the food did smell very good.

The old Chinaman, Ling, that Cole had stolen from the railroad to use as a domestic, had turned out to be an excellent cook, as well as a more than adequate housekeeper. Maria was doubly glad, as she knew that without his presence, she would have been expected to do those jobs, for which she had neither aptitude nor interest.

Maria went to the stove and dished herself a generous helping of stew, adding a couple of biscuits, and pouring herself a mug of beer. Apparently deciding this amounted to permission for him too, Gil followed right behind her. Moving over to an empty chair near the fireplace, she settled down to see what Cole would do with the prisoners.

Cole ignored both her and Gil, focusing back on the two strangers. His face became hard as he looked at the lawman, who straightened up and stared back, his gaze just as hard, just as unyielding, despite his disadvantage.

"So, Dillon, are you ready to hear what I have planned for you?" Cole's voice was dripping with anger and menace. Dillon just stared back at him, unmoved by the threat in his captor's tone.

This utter lack of fear seemed to unnerve Cole, Maria noted with some surprise. But he quickly hid any discomfort behind a glowering stare, and stalked over to the prisoners, stopping just two feet from Dillon, so the man had to look up to meet his eyes.

"Because of you, Clint had to spend the last two years of his life locked in a cell most of the time. And when he wasn't staring at bars, he was being worked to death, digging ditches and hauling rocks. And finally he ended up dead, swinging from a rope because the guards didn't bother to protect him from the jealous no-account scum he was locked up with." Cole's voice grew louder and angrier with each statement, his hands chopping the air as he described his brother's treatment.

"I promised him that he'd have his revenge on you, Dillon, and just because he's not here to see it doesn't change anything. You're going to get a taste of what Clint went through, and then you're gonna swing from a rope." Cole's smile was ugly and sneering.

"Clint had a woman, did you know that Dillon? I had to tell her he'd been killed. She wasn't able to be there at the end, wasn't even able to bury him proper." Cole turned his gaze to the redhead, who was watching him warily from her seat beside the lawman.

Maria straightened up in her chair. What was Cole up to now?

"You should thank me, Dillon. Your woman," Cole leered down at his other captive, "she's going to get to watch you die, and see you buried. And after you're dead and buried, she's not going to have to be alone, like Clint's woman. I'm going to see to her personally, Dillon." Cole reached out and fondled a coppery curl on the woman's head. "We're gonna have us a real good time, me and your woman. Aren't we, 'Kitty'?" His leering stress on her name was a deliberate taunt.

Maria felt a surge of anger at his display of lust. She itched to pull him away, but forced herself to stay still. The redhead appeared to be having the same struggle, Maria observed. The woman looked like she very much wanted to strike his hand away, but she only glared at him.

Maria knew it didn't matter what the woman did. If Cole wanted to take her, he would, and if she resisted, he'd enjoy getting rough with her. It would just make his revenge that much sweeter.

Cole turned his attention back to Dillon, who was leaning forward, looking like he wanted to kill Marston with his bare hands. "So, Dillon, now that you know that your woman will be in good hands," Marston paused to grin triumphantly at the thought, "it's time you started serving your sentence."

Turning away, he motioned to Tex and Eli. "Take him to the shed and lock him up. Bring me his clothes and boots, and make sure you handcuff him to the wall, like I showed you."

The two men grabbed Dillon by the arms and hauled him to his feet. He looked like he wanted to strike out and force them to let go, but also like he'd probably fall over if they actually did. Whatever he wanted to do, he seemed to realize there would be no point in trying to fight all of Marston's men again, especially in his weakened condition.

Instead, he turned to look at his woman. Their eyes met and melded, his the color of the sky, hers a darker reflection, like a lake in summer. Though neither spoke a word out loud, Maria suddenly felt like an intruder eavesdropping on an intimate conversation. Watching the pair's silent profession of love, she felt a twinge of jealousy toward the handsome marshal's woman.

Sounding a bit jealous himself, Cole angrily gestured the men toward the door. "Get him out of here!" The pair jumped to obey, jerking the big man roughly forward and dragging him out the door. His woman turned to watch them, her face a mask of worry.

As the door shut behind them, she turned back to glare at Cole, her whole body alive with fury. "You won't get away with this!" Her deep voice was harsh with anger.

"But I already have, my dear." Cole's face was a study in smug self-assurance. "I already have."


	7. Chapter 7 Separate Cells

**Chapter 7 – Separate Cells**

Matt rolled over onto his side, trying to find a way to get comfortable. With one wrist shackled to a ring on the wall, his movements were significantly restricted. The 'bed' on which he lay was both narrow and not nearly long enough to accommodate his height, not to mention that its thin mattress seemed to be composed entirely of lumps, if that were possible. He could feel the rough wool blanket that covered the mattress scratching against his naked skin. Sighing in resignation, he flopped onto his back again, scooting sideways in a vain attempt to move a particularly large lump to a less annoying place.

He really wished he still had his clothes, though at least the men had given him one garment to wear after they'd made him strip. Unfortunately, while better than nothing, it was none too comfortable. The striped cotton prison pants had clearly been intended for a smaller man; they fit very tightly around his hips, and the pant legs left most of his calves exposed. He stared down at his bare feet. More than anything he wished they'd left him his boots; somehow, having to go barefoot like a schoolboy made him feel more vulnerable than anything else.

He wasn't sure exactly what Cole Marston had in mind for him, but he was pretty sure it wasn't going to be pleasant. At least by tomorrow someone should have found the stage. Plus they'd miss him when he didn't appear at the trial in Garden City. Then Festus and Newly would start looking for them, and Festus was one of the best trackers he knew. Hopefully Marston would want to make him suffer for a while before killing him, and the deputies would have time to find them before it was too late.

His biggest concern, though, was for Kitty. He'd seen the way both Cole and his man Frank had looked at her. He felt his stomach clench with fear at the thought of what might even now be happening to her back at the house. He knew she'd only let Marston touch her that last time because she was afraid of what the outlaw might to do him if provoked. He was really afraid that the next time, with him not there to be victimized, she'd lose that famous temper of hers and let Cole have it. If she did, he knew with complete certainty that Marston would hurt her, and enjoy hurting her.

Somehow he had to find a way to keep her from harm until they could escape or be rescued, but how? He wished he thought that Kitty would do as he asked and escape while he created a diversion, but he'd seen the set of her chin and that look in her eyes that he knew all too well – the only way he'd get her to leave was if he came too. Maybe in the morning, assuming they retrieved him from this lockup to start whatever it was Marston had in mind as retribution, he could somehow overpower his handlers. If Kitty was nearby, maybe they could make a break for it somehow.

Matt sighed. None of it added up. There were so many men here with Marston, it would be next to impossible to escape unless they were asleep. He supposed perhaps he could find some way to free himself from his current handcuffed state, but that still left the large, open and undoubtedly guarded yard between him and the house, within which he assumed Kitty was being held – though, he admitted, he couldn't even be sure of that.

Bringing Kitty to the front of his thoughts set his heart racing with worry again. It killed him to think that she might be in danger because of him, that those men might even now be doing things … Matt shook his head to banish the image. He needed a clear head, and letting his imagination run wild just made him frantic with worry and anger. Right now his whole being was focused on just one idea – tearing Marston and his men apart, and then pulling Kitty into his arms and never letting her go. A fine idea in the abstract, but not a viable escape plan. No, he could not afford to think about what might be happening in that house.

Feeling a desperate need to do **something**, and hoping that it might distract him from his worry, Matt sat up and turned to examine the iron ring set into the wall, to which he was handcuffed. Maybe he could find a weakness somewhere…

MKMKMKMKMKMKMKMK

Kitty stood looking around the small room into which she'd been unceremoniously pushed just moments before. Clearly a spare room, it was just big enough to hold a cot, a small low dresser on which sat a blue and white porcelain pitcher and washbasin, and a chamber pot. A few wooden hooks along one wall were the only place to hang any clothing, though she was happy to see her carpetbag on the floor under them. There was a small window that looked out the front of the house, but boards had recently been nailed to the outside, blocking most of the light, and rendering it useless as an escape route.

Of more concern right now was the door. Specifically, finding some way to ensure nobody could enter through it without her knowing. She'd been immensely relieved when Cole had finally yielded to Maria's whispered enticements and let her lead him off to what was clearly 'their' bedroom. He had paused only briefly to order Billy to lock her in the spare room, and the rest of his men to see to the supplies and horses, and then turn in.

Billy interested her. By far the youngest of Cole Marston's 'men', his coloring indicated that he shared her Irish roots, and he seemed less hardened than the others, as well.

He'd been almost deferential in carrying out Marston's order to lock her up, motioning her ahead of him with a polite bob of his head, no doubt like his momma had taught him. Always ready to maximize the odds in her favor, Kitty had graced him with her most charming smile, and had been pleased to see his eyes light up, in the way so many men's had over the years, at this sign of a pretty woman's favor.

Unfortunately, Frank had seen it too, and had crossed the room to intercept her just short of the door, grabbing her arm and shoving her into the small room. She'd just glimpsed Billy's face before the door closed, and had been encouraged at the look of distress there. Clearly the boy had been raised to respect women, and hadn't yet been corrupted by his association with animals like Frank.

The sound of the bolt on the door being pulled back caused her to turn, her heart racing – what if Frank had decided to risk some 'fun' while the Boss was busy elsewhere! Wishing she had something to use as a weapon, she backed away to give herself some maneuvering room. She watched the door handle turn, forcing herself not to hold her breath. As the door swung open, she tensed, ready to defend herself as best she could. But it was Billy's bright red curls and blue eyes that she saw, not Frank's ugly dark ones.

Sighing with relief, she allowed herself to relax and smile at him. He seemed to realize he shouldn't return the gesture, but sheer politeness pulled the corners of his mouth up in a small smile. He was carrying a small tray on which were a bowl of the chicken stew, a biscuit, and a glass of beer. He set the tray down on the bed and offered in an almost apologetic voice, "I figgered you'd be needin' some vittles about now, ma'am. I'm sure the Boss – Mr. Marston – jes' fergot to give that order, so I figgered I'd take care of it." He ducked his head shyly.

Kitty's smile was quite genuine this time. "Why thank you, Billy. I'm sure you're right, Mr. Marston was quite preoccupied just before he, ah, retired for the evening, and no doubt forgot to mention this detail. I sure do appreciate your taking care of things. I am quite hungry, and I'm sure this stew will hit the spot!"

Holding his deep blue eyes with her matching ones, Kitty put every ounce of skill she possessed into her gaze, wanting him to feel like a veritable white knight who'd just saved a damsel in distress. From the look in his eyes, she hadn't lost her touch. As Billy backed out the door, stumbling slightly in his bedazzlement, she offered one final brilliant smile, praying as she did that this gambit would pay dividends later.

Meanwhile, though, she was famished, and she couldn't be sure that Frank wouldn't discover what Billy had done and take her surprise dinner bounty away. Sitting on the bed, she lifted the bowl of stew and dug in. It was surprisingly delicious, as was the biscuit. The beer was not up to the Long Branch's standards, but it would do under the circumstances.

As she ate, her thoughts turned to Matt. She gathered he was locked up somewhere on the grounds, from what Marston had said to his men. She would bet money that he hadn't been given a thing to eat or drink. She sighed with worry. After all he'd been through that day, he needed a good meal and lots of gentle tending to, not more manhandling by Marston's men. Well, at least she could keep herself as strong and as ready as possible, in case some opportunity presented itself with the new day.

Taking a final swallow of beer, Kitty placed the tray out of sight under the cot, where she could easily retrieve it for Billy, but where Frank might not notice it if she distracted him. Reminded of her earlier mission, Kitty went over to the dresser and removed the large bowl from beneath the pitcher. Crossing to the door, she tipped the bowl up on end and leaned it against the door where it met the doorframe. She stepped back to survey her handiwork. Yep, that should do it – if Frank decided to pay her an unannounced nighttime visit, he'd send the bowl crashing backward as soon as he opened the door.

Confident that at least she couldn't be taken unawares, Kitty lay down on the cot and closed her eyes. She wasn't sure she could actually sleep, as worried as she was about Matt and about tomorrow, but she could at least rest and try to save her energy. Somehow she would save Matt from this deranged man. The 'how' of it wasn't completely clear yet, but her gut told her that Maria and Billy could prove to be a pair of Jokers in the deck, and that meant she could still deal herself a winning hand.


	8. Chapter 8 A Bad Day Begins

**Chapter 8 – A Bad Day Begins**

Matt stumbled out into the bright sunshine. His hands were unshackled, but Tex and Eli each had an iron grip on one of his arms as they marched him between them over to the main house. He briefly considered trying to throw them off and get one of their guns, but almost as quickly forced himself to abandon the idea. Between his head injury, Marston's beating, and a lack of anything to eat or drink since the ambush almost 24 hours before, he knew that if he actually got loose, he'd probably end up face down in the dirt when his legs refused to hold him. Besides, Kitty was presumably still in the house, and he couldn't risk trying anything until she was with him.

As the men dragged him up onto the porch and opened the door, Matt's heart lurched in his chest at the thought of seeing Kitty again. He just hoped he could live with what he saw.

Unfortunately, as they dragged him in and deposited him once more on the bench at the big table, he spotted only Marston and a few of his men in the room. Kitty was nowhere to be seen. He swallowed hard suddenly – neither was Frank. He sought out Marston's face, hoping for a clue.

Marston was leaning back in the biggest chair near the fireplace, looking very pleased with himself. The woman, Maria, was handing him a mug of beer. Matt didn't count himself the most observant man about such things, but even to him it was clear that Cole and Maria had been together last night. He just hoped Maria's were the only favors Marston had sampled. Now if he only knew where Frank was.

Almost as soon as he thought the question, it was answered, as the back door opened to admit Frank, Billy and Tex.

Marston turned to look at them. "Have they found the stagecoach yet?"

Frank smiled his snake-like smile. "Not yet, Boss! We got there just after dawn, and there weren't nobody around. It's still settin' there where we left it. We saw the horses grazing down by the river, still wearing their harnesses. We drug the coach behind a rise and tipped it onto its side, like you told us. We could scarce see it from the road once we'd done it – only if you knew where to look could you spot it."

Marston smiled. "Good. At this rate, we should have plenty of time to complete our mission here and be on our way. Speaking of which," Marston waved Frank toward the back door, "why don't you go get things ready, eh, Frank?" Frank's smile was sickeningly eager. As the smaller man slipped out the back door, Cole turned to look over at Matt, who was filled with a renewed sense of helplessness as his captor inspected him, clearly taking an inventory of his physical condition. Matt thought he saw a flicker of amusement cross the outlaw's face as he took in the too-small britches straining to cover Matt's muscular thighs and hips, and he was positive he saw a gleam of satisfaction as Marston observed the bruises that decorated his face and torso.

Then he noticed that the woman, Maria, was staring at him too. He could feel his face growing warm as he realized just exactly what she was staring at. He desperately wished he could stand up so the thin cotton pants wouldn't fit quite so snugly. After a long moment her eyes slid slowly upward over his naked torso, and when they finally met his, the heated look she gave him left no doubt whatsoever about what was on her mind.

Matt closed his eyes for a moment, unable to deal with this new twist to an already complicated situation. He'd just have to hope that she'd be too busy tending to Marston to pursue any other … interests … she might have developed. Frankly, in his current state he was pretty sure that even if she ordered him at gunpoint, he'd have a tough time coming up to scratch. Never mind the fact that he had absolutely no interest in any such activities unless they involved a certain captivating redhead ...

The thought of Kitty brought the worry surging back. Where was she?! Frank had apparently been gone a good bit of the night, but that still left hours unaccounted for. He had to resist the urge to leap to his feet, roar his frustration and tear the place apart until he found her. He had to see her for himself, and he was afraid that Marston might send him away again before he could.

Suddenly Marston's voice broke through his reverie. "Billy, go get the Marshal's woman. It's time for the show to begin, and I don't want her to miss a minute."

Matt's eyes snapped open. Thank god! He was at least going to be able to see her. He watched as Billy trotted over to the far end of the room and opened a door he hadn't noticed before, near the front of the house. He realized he was holding his breath, but he couldn't summon the will to exhale.

After a long moment, Billy reappeared, and just behind him was possibly the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. Kitty. She had changed into a simple black skirt and cream-colored shirtwaist – apparently they'd allowed her to have at least one of her bags – and she'd taken her hair down, pulling it back with a simple black ribbon. She moved easily and seemed unharmed, no bruises marring her lovely face.

He finally let out the breath he'd been holding. He hadn't failed her yet.

As soon as she cleared the door, Kitty's eyes swept the room. At the sight of him, her face shone with joy at his presence, almost immediately mingled with worry over his battered appearance. He once again wished he had more on, if only so Kitty couldn't see the bruises that decorated his chest and sides. He summoned a smile for her, hoping it would help reassure her he was okay. He was rewarded with the hint of a smile in return, even as her eyes locked onto his, seeking the truth of his condition.

He could tell she wasn't satisfied with what she saw, and he knew the moment she started calculating a strategy for remedying the situation. She had one of the best poker faces he'd ever come across, but he figured that in the dozen years they'd been a couple, he'd spent more time staring into those amazing blue eyes of hers than any other person alive, and he could read her better than anyone else ever had or ever would. He just hoped whatever gambit she was planning, it wouldn't put her in more danger.

All of this silent communication took but a few seconds, and it was quickly interrupted by Marston, who stood up and strode over to where Kitty and Billy were standing. Taking hold of Kitty's arm, he pulled her further into the room. She looked like she wanted to punch his lights out, but Matt was relieved to see her cooperating, at least for the moment.

His heart skipped a beat as he realized Marston was leading her toward him. He almost didn't care why, so powerfully did he long to be near her. As they stopped just a few feet from where he was sitting, Matt met Kitty's eyes again, reading both worry and determination in their blue depths. Flicking his glance to Marston, Matt saw the outlaw was watching Kitty too. He didn't like what he saw in Marston's eyes at all.

Finally, Marston spoke. "As I told you Marshal, you're going to experience what my brother went through after you sent him to prison. That means today you're going to do some hard labor." He smiled his sneering smile again. "You see, after I hang you like they did Clint, I'll need a grave to dispose of your body, and you are going to dig it. You're also going to haul some rocks to cover it."

Suddenly Kitty spoke up. Her voice was remarkably mild. "If you want him to do all that, you're going to have to feed him. The condition he's in now, he'll never make it. Besides, your brother got to eat, didn't he?"

Marston was clearly startled by this contribution, but he covered quickly, looking down at Kitty with an oily smile. "The lady has a point." Marston inclined his head toward her in a mocking gesture of 'respect'. "There's still some food left from this morning's meal. Serve him." As he spoke he gave her a shove in the direction of the cookstove.

Matt was almost startled when Kitty not only didn't glare at Marston over this treatment, she meekly nodded and hurried over to the stove, filling a plate with sausage, biscuits and gravy, and pouring water from a pitcher on the table into one of the spare mugs.

Gliding quickly to his side, she glanced at Marston, looking for a sign that he was going to stop her. Apparently seeing none, she sank down onto the bench beside him, handing him the plate and a fork and putting the mug on the table. He felt her hand slide behind him, where he knew Marston couldn't see, and start gently stroking his back.

As usual, just having her near him made him feel more optimistic about the situation. Surely they could find some way to escape before this maniac carried out his final act of vengeance. Realizing that he would need all his strength if such a plan were to succeed, he dug into the plate of food. Whoever did the cooking was quite talented, and he made quick work of the meal.

As he finished, Kitty pressed the glass of water on him, and to please her, he drained it. He was already feeling much more himself, he realized. His head still hurt, his thinking was a bit fuzzy, and he was feeling every punch he'd taken from Marston the day before, but none of it was enough to stop him from carrying through with an escape, if the opportunity presented itself.

As soon as he saw his prisoner had finished eating, Marston turned to Tex and Eli, who were lounging by the fireplace. "You two, take him outside! It's time he got to work."

As the men rose to get him, Matt felt Kitty's hand retreating from behind his back. Quickly he slipped his own down between them, catching hers, reveling for a timeless moment in the familiar feel of her soft, slender fingers sliding through his larger, rougher ones. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and then forced himself to let it go. He felt her fingers slip away, and the loss of her touch was unbearable. It came to him that nothing Marston had planned could possibly hurt him more than this.

As the men reached the table, he pushed himself up off the bench, hoping to avoid getting manhandled, but they grabbed his arms anyway and dragged him to the door.

A quick glance over his shoulder at Kitty's worried face and he found himself being hustled through the door, across the back porch, and then out onto the lawn. At the back edge of the lawn, Frank was watching them approach. He was leaning on a shovel, a coiled rope in his right hand. Matt could see a horrible look of excited anticipation in the outlaw's oily black eyes. As the three of them drew closer, Frank shook out the coil, and Matt saw with sickening clarity what it really was. Not a lariat at all. Frank had a whip.


End file.
